


Somewhat Soaked

by MortuaryBee



Category: Bandom, Nine Inch Nails (Band), Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Desperation, Desperation Play, Male Solo, Masturbation, NIN, Omorashi, Other, Piss kink, RPF, Urination, Watersports, Wetting, implied exhibitionism, real person fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortuaryBee/pseuds/MortuaryBee
Summary: There's some extra time before an interview.





	Somewhat Soaked

The eight hours Trent’s been sitting here seemed closer to four but aching knees and constricted blood vessels tell him otherwise. He sits cross legged in a tattered old computer chair at his desk with an electronic keyboard on one side of the mouse and a switchboard on the other. Rows of pedals cover the floor under the desk. A jumble of wires are piled into the space between the pedals and the wall. He balances a computer keyboard on his knees and types a few words. He grunts before laying his head in the palm of his hand. He shifts some of his weight to the arm rest his elbow is planted on and blinks.

He deletes half a verse and attempts to rewrite it for the third time in the past hour. Frustration chips at his focus.

“Shit.” He rubs the heel of his hands into his eyes and yawns. “Interview.” He’s still dressed in the tight black T-shirt, leather pants, and combat boots from Brian’s party last night. That’ll work for MTV. He pulls his foot from under his knee and throws the keyboard onto the switchboard next to him. He props his foot on the edge of the desk but a sharp pressure in his abdomen makes him hesitate. Trent groans as the urge to piss intensifies when he leans forward. He grips the armrests and stares at the ceiling until he regains control. 

He deflates against the back of the chair and lets his head drop. His other foot falls to the floor as he spreads his knees until his cock brushes against leather. Trent lays a hand over his dick and focuses on contracting his bladder. He stops just before relief. He drags his palm along the length of his prick before pushing again and again. Each time is more difficult to stop, the pressure boiling like water in a kettle.

When he drops his hand back onto the armrest sweat is beading on his forehead. His breathing slows and he watches his stomach move as he forces piss from his penis. Trent laughs when a small wet patch soaks through smooth leather. He stops the slow trickle and rubs his thumb against the head. He shuts his eyes and lets out a whine when the smell of urine hits his nostrils. He breathes deep.

He kicks off from the desk and rolls into the middle of his home studio. Legs outstretched, he runs a hand over his distended bladder under his pants. He adjusts his dick so it's lying along his thigh, and squirts urine into his pantleg. He closes his knees and holds his thighs together, pushing his ass to the back of the chair and rubbing his wet balls against the seat. There’s a hitch in his breath as he scrambles to undo his belt. He opens his fly and grabs his bare, slick, dick. 

“Fuck, I’ve gotta piss,” he whines as he pulls on his prick. “I’m so full. Please?” 

Sweat trails down his neck. He holds his other hand over his head and struggles against imaginary ties. The hand on his cock stills as he holds it up. “Please, I can’t-” two controlled bursts spray out of his dick and splatter up onto his shirt. He rubs the wetness into his chest and then quickly strips off the soaked fabric before his hand makes its way back to his length.

“I couldn’t hold it. There’s too much.” The slick smack of skin covers a gasp he won’t remember making. He furrows his brow in frustration as he holds back his orgasm. 

He lets wet cock fall onto his stomach, abandoned, and blinks back tears. The weight in his abdomen scrapes against his resolve as he catches his breath.

“Please let me go.” Trent shoves his hard rod into his dry pantleg and his confused muscles hesitate for a moment before letting a gush of urine through. When he hears a sharp hiss as the warm liquid runs down his leg he stops the flow and pulls his knees together again. The slap of his thighs reverberates through his cock. He rubs them together and against his length with a squelch before pulling his pants down to mid thigh. Warms piss spills from his pants and pools under his ass before pouring over the sides of the seat cushion. His hips jerk helplessly into nothing as he slaps down into his own pee.

Trent’s bare cheeks splash against the cushion with every thrust, inching him towards the edge of his chair. The screech of his boot heel against linoleum flooring is harsh as his weight finally shifts and he falls. He lands hard on his knees and throws a hand out to catch himself. 

The change in position only invigorates him as he bends down to rest his head on his forearm, showing himself off to the empty room. He huffs as he slows the steady jerk of his hand. He loosens his grip on his dick and holds it around the base. 

Panting, Trent lays his head on the floor and uses his other hand to pull his cheek to the side, spreading himself for no one to see. His breath catches in his throat when he taps the pad of his finger against his asshole. He rubs circles into his puckered hole and presses back into his own touch. Muscles in his thigh twitch and tense as he forces out what little urine is left. Piss spurts out sporadically before picking up into a small stream. Trent groans as he feels his sphincter flutter under his finger. He delves into his entrance and pushes hard into the burn. The sharp hiss grows louder as he finally voids his bladder.

Piss splashes against the floor and up onto his nipples. A squirt hits his chin as he presses against his prostate before the stream weakens. The growing puddle of urine soaks through to his knees and his arousal persists through relief. 

“Thank you.” He sobs and grips his cock tighter, stroking it back into full hardness. “Thank you, for letting me piss.” Brushing against his prostate, he fucks himself in time with his fist. He focuses on the head of his cock, tears running down his face. Desperate shallow gasps turn to silence as his come splashes down to mix with cooling urine. Air is torn from his lungs with a sigh as he sits back on his ankles. He looks down at the mess he has made and catches his breathe.

“Gross,” he laughs. Knees popping as he stands up, his pants are still bunched around his ankles. “Now I gotta change.”


End file.
